


Blind and a Prince? Totally Unfair

by pureimagination



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Bisexual Male Character, Blind Character, M/M, Matt's a prince, Mentions of Suicide, Modern Royalty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 11:47:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3935659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pureimagination/pseuds/pureimagination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Foggy’s first thought, when a man with a cane, glasses, and ridiculously expensive clothes burst into his room was “Whoa, hot.”<br/>His second was “whoa, blind.”<br/>His third was “whoa, royal.” Because the person who was panting like they’d just finished a triathalon and leaning against the door was the very hot, very blind Crown Prince, Matthew Murdock."<br/>In which Matt's a modern prince, Foggy is Foggy, and, of course, someone wants Matt dead. (Rating for future chapters)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just Not Fair

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first fic for the Daredevil fandom! I have the rest of the fic planned out, but not written yet, so let me know what you loved, hated, would like to see! This is unbeta'd, so let me know if you see any glaring errors.

Foggy’s first thought, when a man with a cane, glasses, and ridiculously expensive clothes burst into his room was “Whoa, hot.”

His second was “whoa, blind.”

His third was “whoa, royal.” Because the person who was panting like they’d just finished a triathalon and leaning against the door was the very hot, very blind Crown Prince, Matthew Murdock.

And it wasn’t like Foggy hadn’t _known_ Prince Matthew was attending Columbia. It might have, in a very nondirect, non-stalkerish way, been part of the reason he came. That and that it was close to home. But…come on. Of course he came to the school with the super-hot prince! Not because he was expecting this scenario exactly…although he sure wasn’t complaining.

He just wished he had at least _tried_ to be smooth when literal-human-perfection Matthew Murdock burst into his dorm room like someone was chasing him. Instead, it went like this:

“Hey, aren’t you—“

“Yeah.”

“But you’re—“

“Uh-huh.”

“But…why?” (It was around this point that Foggy started wondering how much it could really hurt, jumping out of a third floor window. It couldn’t be worse than this conversation.)

“Woman. Wants to marry me.”

“Hot?” (How would he know, Nelson? _How would he know?_ )

“Yeah.” (Okay, wait, seriously, how does he know?)

“Aggressively interested?”

“ _Oh yeah_.” Foggy grinned a little at that, and was thrilled to see that the Prince did as well.

“Well, welcome to my dorm room, hot blind prince.” ( _Why?_ Why would he say that? What was wrong with him? Had he licked lead paint chips as a child? Had his mother dropped him? What was wrong with him that he would do that?) Foggy’s internal panic was only curbed by a soft chuckle from the prince.

“Most people just call me Matt.” No they do not, Foggy immediately thought, shaking his head a little. Then he remembered—oh, blind.

“I’m shaking my head at you. But okay, hot blind prince also known as Matt. I’m Foggy. Feel free to hide as long as you need to from the hot woman throwing herself at you. Seriously, feeling the pity, man. It must be so hard, having a beautiful woman desperate to marry you.” That earned Foggy a full laugh, and he swore his heart skipped a beat, just like in those cheesy romcoms that he totally didn’t watch when he was feeling sad.

“You have no idea. You’re welcome to her, if you’d like. You wouldn’t happen to have a title? God knows that's all she's interested in.” Oh. Of course, the prince wouldn’t want to socialize with the lower class, the nonnobles. Rumor even had it that he’d been given his own room, something most freshmen didn’t get.

“Nah, me? Nope, commoner through and through. Mom wanted me to be a butcher, but I told her I would be a lawyer instead.”

“Thank God,” Matt sighed, and Foggy had to replay that. Several times.

“Wait, what? I would have thought that—I mean, no offense, man, but I’m really not in your level of society.”

“I know. That’s—I mean, have you _seen_ the people I have to spend all my time with? They’re _awful_. All they care about is money and power, and people like that girl just chase me for my money and power. Ugh. You don’t seem like that kind of person. It’s…refreshing.”

“Wow. That…yeah, that actually sucks,” Foggy decided, going and getting Matt a beer from his fridge and pressing it into his hand after popping the lid off. “That’s a beer by the way.”

“I know. I can, um, smell it.”

“Huh. Neat. Here, let’s toast. To power-hungry women,” Foggy said, clinking his bottle against Matt’s. The other man chuckled softly, but echoed the toast and took a sip of the beer. “This is going to be a beautiful friendship. I can tell.”

 

The funny thing was, Matt thought months later, hanging out in Foggy’s room—he was found there more often than his own rooms, lately—and thinking back on that first meeting, was that it _was_. When he’d rushed into the first open door he’d found, he’d been hoping for someone that would be too startled by his presence to do anything until Marilou had passed by. What he’d gotten instead was a funny, friendly man who commiserated with him, albeit sarcastically, automatically narrated his nonverbal communication, and gotten him a beer

Although Matt would never tell Foggy this (at least not sober), he honestly considered the other man a sincere blessing. He was tired, bone deep tired. Everyone around him lied. His guards, his professors, his advisors, everyone. His entire world was clouded with deceit and desperation, people starving for the smallest scrap of power and willing to do anything to get it.

Foggy wasn’t like that. Foggy seemed to like Matt for him, and only ever brought up the prince thing when he was teasing Matt. Same with the blind thing, which he always treated more or less like it was some sort of benefit (“Come on, you got the blind thing going, so unfair”) while still automatically making allowances for his friend.

Foggy was also the single most honest person Matt had ever met. For the first few weeks, Matt had been listening closely, the way he always did at court, waiting for the lie that would prove that Foggy was an informant for someone, or was after him for his wealth, _something_. Instead, the first time he caught Foggy lying, it was an attempt to make Matt more comfortable.

“Hey, yeah, no big deal. Spicy food in the room, not gonna happen. You need me to brush my teeth, too?” He’d been lying about it not being a big deal, but the spicy food had stopped, and Matt knew then and there that Foggy was for real. It was…strange.

He’d never been able to just…relax before. Not since his father died, at least. Definitely not since Stick came to train him. His senses were always at high alert, prepared to defend himself against anyone trying to use him or hurt him, because that was his _life_ , but with Foggy…he didn’t have to worry. Sure, he still kept a low level awareness going, making sure nobody was lining up a shot for him when they were wandering around campus, but, God, he could go out and get drunk without worrying that someone was going to take advantage of the situation. He _trusted_ Foggy, and he didn’t think his friend fully understood what a big deal that actually was.

The one thing he felt bad about, though, was the paparazzi. They stayed off campus, for the most part, but when he stepped out into the real world, he had to give them some sort of statement or at least a good picture. Yet, when he tried to apologize to Foggy for the inconvenience, the other man didn’t allow him to.

“Foggy, I’m sorry about them. We can start just meeting places if you’d—“

“What? Dude, no. No. We’re not letting them be the reason you walk into traffic.”

“Fog, I’m not going to—“

“And, anyway, this is good practice. If I’m going to be a big shot lawyer, I have to learn to deal with the press sooner or later. No comment, and all that.”

“But the things they say—“

“Sticks and stones, bro, sticks and stones. Let’s get lunch.”

And that ended that. Matt knew that he was breaking one of Stick’s cardinal rules—no connections—but he couldn’t help it. Foggy was… _Foggy_. He was loyal, and kind, and somehow always knew what Matt needed, whether it be an explanation of the nonverbal gestures, someone to read aloud a text book that hadn’t come in an accessible format for him yet, or someone to hide with when yet another noblewoman who dreamed of being queen was stalking him.

“You know what the worst part is?” Matt reflected one evening, comfortably buzzed in Foggy’s dorm, leaning his head back against the couch. “The worst part is that I’m definitely more interested in men than women. I mean, don’t get me wrong, _women_ , but _men_.”

“No shit?” Foggy had asked, looking at Matt. His heartbeat was steady and fond, and he shifted so that their ankles were touching. “Why don’t you go after some men, then?”

“Line of succession. I’m the last of my line. Which means I have to marry a woman. No sense in trying something that could never be long term.”

“One night stands, dude.”

“Too risky. Could sell the story. Not worth the media outrage for something that isn’t…permanent. Couldn’t be permanent.” Foggy’s heart stutters out sympathy and outrage, and Matt can hear all his muscles—slackened by alcohol—bunching up in fury.

“Well that’s just—that’s just bullshit! Why would they do that? I mean, come on, that’s such a dick move!”

“You’re amazing, Foggy.” The words were out before Matt could think about them, and he felt a warm flush working its way up his face as the air around Foggy displaced, his head whipping around to stare at Matt.

“For what? For thinking that kissing and then telling a reporter is a dick move? That’s basic human decency, Matty.”

“Yeah, but…” Matt shrugged, taking a drink of his beer. “You’re the first person I’ve met that has that. At least in regards to me.” There was long silence on Foggy’s side, and his heart kicked from anger into something else. Desire.

It wasn’t as though Matt didn’t know that Foggy found him attractive. It had been there, in the first, meeting, written out in his heartbeat and in his delightfully unfiltered speech, and while it had dulled to occasional spurts, it was still there. Matt just thought Foggy had decided not to act on it.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Foggy murmured, and Matt could have stopped him. Should have stopped him, but…he didn’t. Their lips met, and Matt let his fingers wander over Foggy’s face, mapping out the man’s features. Foggy tasted of beer and pizza and the salad he’d had after Matt had practically bullied him into it, tasting of ranch dressing and lettuce from four different farms. His lips were chapped and warm, and his fingers, cradling Matt’s cheek, were soft, scraping against the light stubble there.

When Matt had been ten, he’d thought the hardest thing he’d ever had to do was break the first sleeper hold Stick had put him in. To break the hold that blocked the blood from his carotid arteries, that made his brain fuzzy, his senses dulled, the weakness spreading through his body for terrifying moments before Stick released him and made him go again.

Pushing Foggy away, pulling his lips away from the promise of something wonderful, made that look like child’s play.

“Foggy, we can’t.” The words physically hurt, tasting like copper and salt against his tongue, like the first time he’d been hit hard enough to bleed, the first time he’d fallen because his cane and his senses hadn’t warned him of an upcoming stumbling block. “I’m sorry. Foggy, we can’t.”

The lurch that Foggy’s heart gave, the steady rhythm of disappointment and hurt, the shake to his fingers as he pulled away, hurt even more than the words, and Matt had to actually bite back the urge to take the words back, to just keep kissing Foggy and forget about the hell he would be dragging his only friend into with this, about how he had a responsibility to father an heir, to marry a woman in the Catholic church.

“Right. Uh, sorry, spur of the moment, should have _asked_ first, obviously—“

“No, Foggy, it’s not that. It’s not—that was _fine_ , you gave me plenty of time to refuse, God, it’s not—“

“Then what is it? Is this some sort of Catholic guilt thing because I swear to God, Matt-“

“No, it’s not that either, it’s just—“

“Is it me?” Those words honestly startled Matt so badly that he fell silent for a long moment. And then he had to keep from kissing Foggy again. Then he was angry.

“ _What_? For fuck’s sake, Foggy, of course not. You’re…no.” Matt took a deep breath. “If I were anyone else, Foggy, I would be lucky to have you. But I have a duty to the crown, to continue my line, and I’m the last of my line.”

“Matt, it’s the 21st century, there are ways to have kids—“

“Not ways approved by the Catholic Church. You know the laws of succession, Foggy. It can’t happen. And even if—even if it could. Even if—you’re my friend, Foggy. My only friend.” Matt felt pathetic, saying it out loud like that, and the sharp tang of surprise filled the air, Foggy’s heart jumping a little. He was surprised? That was somewhat flattering, since Matt knew full and well that he didn’t have any other friends.

“Matt…”

“I can’t ruin that, okay, Fog? I just…I can’t.” To his horror, Matt felt his eyes dampening, and quickly averted his eyes, swallowing hard. He was surprised to feel fingers on his face next, but it wasn’t like before, when they’d been kissing. This wasn’t passion; this was comfort.

“Okay, Matty. It’s okay. We’ll just…we’ll just keep being friends, alright? And I’ll find you a nice girl, a decent one. Not just pretty.” It would be reassuring if not for the sad thump of Foggy’s heart, or the tears that Matt feels as he touches his cheek. Just briefly, before Foggy jerks back and shakes his head.

“Foggy…”

“No, Matt, we are not losing our friendship because I was stupid and didn’t take into account my best friend’s real world problems, okay? God, and don’t you go blaming yourself for this either. You’re so fucking Catholic sometimes it hurts. This is on me. I should have—fuck, Matty, I should have realized.” Matt started to talk again and abruptly found a hand over his lips.

“Nope! Foggy has spoken!” He could feel the other man back away, could hear the hesitant set of his shoulders, and tried to imagine the look on his face. “Still friends?”

“Definitely,” Matt said, his own face folding into a small, hopeful smile.

 

The amazing part of it was, Foggy reflected, that they _did_. Sure, it was awkward, painfully awkward, and he would always regret that, _of course_ , he’d fallen head over heels for a prince who could never, ever be with him, but after a while, they settled into a proper friendship. Matt still flirted with girls, but after a while, that stopped hurting (and maybe because Foggy knew why Matt was doing it, saw it every time the papers left alone their speculation of his relationship with Matt to focus on this other girl, who was always noble, always acceptable, and loving the fame.

Soon, they were as inseparable as ever, and neither of them ever talked about the kiss. Well, not true. Foggy often brought it up, because he still remembered the feeling of Matt’s rough fingers tracing his features, so he would tell people “Yeah, he touched my face once. Only once, ‘cause weird.” As if that was all that needed to be said about it.

After three years together, they were both graduating. Matt was, of course, graduating summa cum laude, the overachiever, while Foggy was graduating with a perfectly respectable magna cum laude. He was thrilled for graduation, but Matt wasn’t, and it wasn’t until the day of that Foggy figured out why.

Usually, the press kept far away from any campus events, which let Matt at least pretend that he was a normal student (you know, one that had a giant bodyguard behind him at all times). But this…damn. This was the press out in full force, and it hit Foggy that they were here because this was Matt’s last step before becoming king. The coronation was set for two weeks from now.

Foggy knew the law. Of course he did, he was a lawyer, or would be in a few hours. Congress passed a statute years ago that dictated that the next in line for the throne must complete both an undergraduate and some form of further education before taking the throne. Hence the reason Matt was just a prince still, not king. But now he qualified. The regent would be removed and Matt—Matt who turned red when he got drunk or embarrassed, Matt whose furniture Foggy had moved to another room as a joke, Matt who Foggy was pathetically head over heels for—was going to be _king_.

So of course the press was here. That wasn’t too bad, for all that it made Matt’s spine go stiff and his “royal mask” slide over his face—the one with a polite, bland smile that made Foggy’s heart hurt—but that wasn’t too bad. It was just cameras, and they were actually being pretty respectful.

No, what made Foggy hurt the most was the lack of anyone there for Matt. He knew about his father, about the assassination. The whole kingdom knew about that, along with his mother’s suicide when he was a child. But he had cousins, and aunts, and uncles, but not a single one showed up. Not a single member of the royal family was at his graduation, and, hell, Foggy knew that Matt wasn’t close to his family, but this was something else. Even Foggy’s great-aunt Penelope had shown up, and she only spoke to him to tell him how he could improve. But she was here. And Matt didn’t have a single person there for him.

Naturally, Foggy immediately found his friend after graduation and wrapped an arm around him, finally coaxing a real grin from the uptight prince.

“Buddy, if you get any stiffer, I’m going to be forced to take drastic action,” Foggy joked, getting a laugh out of the prince and grinning himself in success. “Come on, I’m going out with everyone to get something to eat at one of those restaurants that is trying to serve you a heart attack. You’re more than welcome.”

“I wish I could,” Matt sighed, and Foggy could detect a bit of honest longing in his voice. This prince thing _sucked_. “But I’ve got some press I’ve gotta do, and then preparation for the coronation. But, um, I wanted to give you something.” He pulled out a card with his email and phone number neatly typed on it. “Just…in case you want to keep in contact. The email is the best, since I’ll check that pretty much every night, but my schedule is so hectic I doubt I’ll be able to chat on the phone. But, um, I’ll make sure the spam filter lets you through.”

Foggy reached up and hugged Matt fiercely, more touched than he wanted to let on. “Of course I’m gonna email you. Someone has to keep you from being all guilty and princely all the time, right? I’ll be sure to tell you what you look like at the coronation, too. Completely honest.” That got another laugh out of Matt.

“I’m terrified what the critical eye of Foggy Nelson is going to see in that ridiculous outfit.”

“Uh, you should be! I’ve seen the old coronation pictures, Matt, and not even your ridiculous gorgeous self can pull that off. I am taking pictures. They won’t be good blackmail, granted, but they will allow me some measure of glee.” And Matt was smiling, completely honestly, which was the whole point.

“I’m gonna miss you, Foggy.”

“Hey, don’t talk like that. You think you’re getting out of this friendship? Uh-uh, Murdock and Nelson, friends for life.”

“Nelson and Murdock. Sounds better.”

“You think?”

“I’m something of an expert.” That ruined it, and they both bust out laughing. Foggy, once he recovered, put the card in his wallet.

“Right. Nelson and Murdock, friends for life. I’ll email you, and I expect at least one visit, got it?”

“Got it.”

 

It sort of figured, Matt thought, two weeks later, relaxing after the coronation, that Foggy’s first email was just him making fun of Matt’s entire coronation.

 

TO BE CONTINUED


	2. Love Letters, of a Sort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. Guys, I am so happy with the comments and kudos I got. You have no idea, that is the biggest motivation for me, especially the comments. So...here's the next chapter. I make no promises on the one after this, even though I'm excited to write it, because I might have sort of kind of not slept at all last night. At all. I wrote this instead. As such, I make no promises to quality, since this is incredibly unbeta'd and written in a haze. As always, tell me what you think.What you loved, hated, and please let me know if you spot any errors! Enjoy!

TO: Matthew Murdock

FROM: Franklin Nelson

DATE: June 20, 2015

 

Dude. Dude. Guess who just got offered an internship at Landman and Zack? THIS GUY!!! Okay, imagine me pointing my thumbs at myself in an enthusiastic manner.

Okay, so, it’s not royalty, but still. This is the most prestigious law firm in New York, or, you know, one of them. Anyway, I just know from the way they phrased it that, if I do well here, they will offer me a job. A _job_ , Matty! I could get a job at one of the most prestigious law firms in the city. This is _awesome_. And Ma wanted me to be a butcher. Insert dismissive sound here.

Anyway, I saw your latest speech on the news. You got balls, buddy, calling out those morons in Congress who aren’t passing that bill you’re advocating for. I mean, seriously, who votes in _favor_ of supporting child labor laws? (Yes, I know, that’s not exactly what the bill does, it bans the importation of goods that have been proven to be created with child labor, blah blah blah—but CHILD LABOR, Matty, this really should be an easy one). Just…be careful, alright? There’s a lot of talk around these parts about an overactive monarch, and I just…be careful, okay? These people don’t know you like I do. They think you’re just flexing your muscles, not trying to actually do good. I know you hate PR, but maybe do a little bit of it? Rather than making speeches calling our elected representatives “people without the inner conscience God gave to the most basic of creatures that prevent them, not from killing their own young, but from abusing and tormenting them?” (Yes, I took notes on your speech. How else am I gonna make fun of you, buddy? Also, you’ve always been better at speeches than me. I need _all_  the help). But, dude, seriously. You _know_ that was inflammatory. Don’t even try with the innocent act, I know you know it. What’s worse is that you _wrote it down_. I saw your hands moving. Fucking Christ, Matthew (yes, I called you Matthew. This is a full name situation.), you’re brand new to the throne. Could you try to be a little more like the idiot they expect you to be? Please? Just for a little bit?

Anyway, while we’re on the topic of you being stupid—which let me just, you know, bask in you being the stupid one, King _Summa Cum Laude_ —I noticed that you looked tired, buddy. I mean, I know the makeup is supposed to hide it, but you look _wiped_ , pal. When’s the last time you got some sleep? Or, hell, had something decent to eat? You look a bit, um, gaunt. I mean, still scarily attractive (again, _not fair, not fair at all_ ), but like you could use some food. My Ma even noticed it and called me about it. Why she called _me_ , I’m not really sure, it’s not like I’m your personal butcher, but still. She’s worried. You have a standing invitation to dinner any time, if you want a proper homecooked meal.

I’m suddenly realizing why she might have called me about your health. Ah.

Anyway. Just…remember to take care of yourself. I remember how you got, when you got really invested in something in school, and I imagine this is, like, a thousand times worse, because this actually matters. Not that law school didn’t matter, because I know you took it seriously, but, you know; theoretical arguments versus laws that actually impact the lives of thousands of people. No pressure whatsoever. But seriously? Eat something. Get some sleep, even for a couple of hours. Just imagine me dragging you to your bed—okay, wow, that came out vaguely sexual, no. You know what I mean, man, I had to get your sorry ass away from the books more times than I can count in college. Don’t make me come over there and do it to your sorry _kingly_ ass.

No, seriously, don’t make me. Because I will, because I’m your friend and I care about you, and then your scary guards will taze me. Friends don’t let friends get tazed, Matt, so get some sleep, okay?

Love ya. (Also, really hoping that this isn’t being read by one of those big scary guard guys you got, because. Um. Awkward.)

 

 

TO: Franklin Nelson

FROM: Matthew Murdock

DATE: June 21, 2015

 

Foggy,

 

I am somehow utterly unsurprised that your second email to me is just you scolding me about getting enough food and sleep. I swear, you’re worse than the nuns that helped raise me. But, to ease your mind, the reason that I’m answering this now and not yesterday is that I _was_ , actually, getting some food and sleep. It’s been a long few days of arguing with the head of the House and of the Senate, culminating in that speech.

A speech I make no apologies for, by the way, since it worked. Have you watched the news today? If you haven’t, turn off whatever awful action movie you have on (they are using paper sliding out of an envelope, Foggy, trust me, I can tell) and switch to something that isn’t killing brain cells. It passed, Foggy! It passed. Barely even edited. So say what you will about my comparisons (but seriously, what other creature does what we do to children? Even lions just eat the male young, not force them to comb its mane), but they _work_. You damn well better take notes. But, seriously, Foggy, your speeches are fine. You’re way more critical of yourself than others would ever dream of being with you. You don’t have to take notes from me, not when you helped teach me how to make speeches in the first place.

Also, since you spent so much time ensuring my well-being, I’m going to return the favor. Don't work for Landman and Zack, Foggy. You’ll make a lot of money, sure, but you’ll hate it there. They don’t care who they hurt or how bad the people they’re representing are as long as they have the money to pay for it. The people there lost any heart they might have had at the beginning of working there. Do your internship, it’s great experience, but just…don’t work there, alright? There’s plenty of other places that would hire you, places with heart, places that are doing honest good. Hell, I’ll write you a reference, if you’d like. Something like that from the king is sure to get you a job anywhere you’d want. Just…don’t work for them. You have the biggest heart I’ve ever encountered. I don’t want to see that place destroy you.

Take care of yourself, Foggy. And I’ll consider coming over when things have died down a bit.

 

Sincerely,

Matt

 

TO: Matt Murdock

FROM: Franklin Nelson

DATE: June 22, 2015

 

Only you, Matt, would feel the need to start a casual email between friends with an actual salutation—even one as casual as my name (and tell me, how much did that hurt you? How much to be that casual in any written format, Matt? Did you have to immediately go sign a proclamation or something to make up for that breach in etiquette? I bet you did. You’re my friend, but you are so royal sometimes it hurts. It hurts me, Matt.), and end it with “Sincerely.” Matt, I know you’re being sincere. I go through the letter assuming you were being sincere. That sign off makes me suspicious of your sincerity, Matty. Very suspicious.

But seriously, stop bringing up the Star Trek thing. First of all, it is science fiction, not action—people getting shot does not make it action, and I can feel your dubious stare through this computer (don’t ask me how you do a dubious stare blind, I think it’s in the eyebrows, but it’s scarily effective)—and secondly, it was the sixties, okay? They were working with limited technology. I happen to think using paper sliding out of an envelope to create that door swooshing sound is very creative! I mean, cheap, yeah, but creative! King Matthew, everyone, ruining the magic behind beloved childhood television. Whatever would your populace think of that?

And I was watching the news, I’ll have you know. Congratulations, Matty, seriously. Your first bill passed as a king. I wish I was there to have a drink with you in celebration. We could go to Josie’s, drink the thing with the eel. I’d even let you have the eel, that’s how good of a friend I am. I am a fantastic friend who lets his friend have the suspicious eel (did we ever actually verify that it was an eel? I don’t think we did. Matt, WHAT DID WE EAT?) because he passed a fantastic law that I now get to defend people of breaking. Awesome.

Look, Matt, about Landman and Zack…I get why you’re concerned. I do. You say I have a big heart, but you’re the guy who can’t turn away from cruelty. And I’m glad for that part of you, I really am. It makes you an amazing king who does things like pass laws that legislate against child labor in other countries. You’re making a real change in the world. But me? I like to think I’m a good person, sure, but I’m in it for the money, too, Matt. I’m not like you. I’m not made of the moral-fiber version of Kevlar. I'm more like, I dunno, the cheap cotton you hate. Yeah, I mean, Landman and Zack isn’t exactly the most morally upright place, but it’s…I dunno, Matt, it’s a law firm. They are all a little soulless. It happens.

I’m glad you got some sleep, though, buddy. Also super glad that I didn’t have to risk a break in to the Palace, because, again, Tasers.

 

 

TO: Matthew Murdock

FROM: Franklin Nelson

DATE: June 25, 2015, 6:45 AM

 

Hey, buddy, you alright? Usually you’re quick about responding to my emails. I get that you’re busy, just don’t forget about your old pal Foggy, okay?  
  
TO: Matthew Murdock  
FROM: Franklin Nelson  
DATE: June 25, 2015 12:30 PM

 

HOLY FUCKING SHIT. Matt, Matt, I just saw the news. Something about you being in the hospital? They aren’t letting anyone see you, not the press, not anyone. Are you okay? Sorry, that’s a stupid question, but…God, Matty, get back to me when you get the chance. Even if it’s just a simple “OK” or something like that. Just let me know you’re okay. Send somebody if you need me. Just…let me know, okay? I love you.  
  
TO: Matthew Murdock  
FROM: Franklin Nelson  
DATE: June 25, 2015 3:15 PM

 

Matt, I’m watching the news more. I think this might be the longest I’ve watched it at a stretch. They’re saying things about broken bones, multiple contusions…what _happened,_ Matty? What did you do? Christ, they’re tossing around the idea of an assassination attempt. God, Matt, just…tell me you’re okay. Tell me that this wasn’t someone trying to kill you. I love you. Please be okay.  
  
TO: Franklin Nelson  
FROM: Matthew Murdock  
DATE: June 26, 2015  
  
I’m okay. I love you too.  
  
TO: Matthew Murdock  
FROM: Franklin Nelson  
DATE: June 26, 2015

 

Thank God. You little shit, you have so much kissing up to do, scaring me like that. (I’m really happy and you really scared me. Never, ever do that again.)  
  
TO: Franklin Nelson  
FROM: Matthew Murdock  
DATE: June 28, 2015  
  
Foggy,

Sorry I scared you like that. You shouldn’t listen to the media, though, they like to take everything out of proportion. I was in the hospital, yes, but my “broken bones” are one bone. Singular. And it was my wrist. Yeah, I’m covered in bruises (won’t be making any televised appearances for a while, that’s for sure) but this wasn’t an assassination attempt. Seriously? I have guards for that. They’re good guards, scary guards, highly trained guards. Really, very good guards. You know what they aren’t trained for? Blind guys who trip over something someone left in the hallway and fall down a flight of stairs.

Yes, you read that right. I fell down stairs and put myself in the hospital. Although the hospital was a little dramatic, I thought. I didn’t even hit my head all that hard, just broke my wrist when I landed and ended up with bruises everywhere. There was a cut on my head, so don’t be alarmed if you see pictures of me with a bandage, but it wasn’t so bad. Gave me a mild concussion, hence the lack of contact and short message. I’m actually voice recording this and then having it read back to me, so I apologize for any sort of errors that I can’t catch on this.

But I am sorry I scared you, Foggy. I would have reassured you immediately if I wasn’t, um, concussed. But I _am_ okay, really. I’ll be making a quick statement and then going to go rest and _not_ work ( was that convincing?).

But it’s nice to have someone worry about Matt, and not the king. So thanks for that, Foggy.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
Matthew Murdock  
  
TO: Matthew Murdock  
FROM: Franklin Nelson  
Date: June 29, 2015

MATTHEW MICHAEL MURDOCK! Yes, this is a middle name, all capital letters because I can’t shout at you in person situation! How many times have I told you to get a seeing eye dog? ‘No, Foggy, I don’t need a dog, I get along fine on my own, my _guards will tell me if I’m about to trip and fall!’_ you said. ‘A dog would make me stand out more,’ you said.

You are a lying liar who lies, Matthew. Get a fucking dog. Don’t like dogs? Get, I don’t know, a llama.  You’re a rich guy, llamas are pretty smart, buy one of those and train it to help you avoid falling down the stairs. Christ. The country is in the hands of a moron without the self-preservation God gave a lemming. May He have mercy on us all.

I’m glad you’re okay, though, pal. I really am. Just…be more careful, okay? King stuff aside, I’d be bummed to lose a friend like you.

And no, it was not convincing. Get your ass in bed and stop working for a day. I swear the country will be alright without you.

 

 

07/4/2015: BREAKING NEWS: MASS OUTBREAK OF ILLNESS INSIDE THE PALACE. KING MISSING. FOUR ALREADY REPORTED DEAD. MORE AT 8.

 

Foggy was, to put it bluntly, a complete mess when he turned on the news that morning. He’d gotten into the habit of it after the whole Stairs Incident, as he’d taken to calling it in his head, because that was slightly faster than the “My-best-friend-is-a-proud-idiot-who-takes-joy-in-scaring-me-half-to-death” incident. Only slightly faster.

So when the news that morning, just a little over a week after the Stairs Incident, talked about a mass outbreak of illness inside the Palace, Foggy was more than a little distraught, because _Matt could be sick and he needed to be there and God who knew he’d be so far in over his head when that blind guy used his dorm to hide?_

He was just about to sit down at the computer and type up the first of what he was sure would be a series of increasingly frantic, worried emails, just like last time, when a knock came to his door. _Oh God, they’ve come to tell me that Matt died, he set up some sort of maudlin notice so I wouldn’t find out from the news because he’s **Matt** of course he would do that—_

Except it wasn’t a notice.

Instead, it was the King himself, standing outside with one arm in a sling ( _his wrist my ass that lying liar_ ), his face bruised to hell, and a tired, slightly panicked expression on his face, not a guard in sight. 

“Matt? What the hell—“

“Foggy, can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course, come on in, but what—how did you even—the news—“ Ah, there was the Foggy of college, so articulate and suave. How he missed him. _Not_.

“I’m sorry, Foggy, but you’re the only person I could think of who I know would never try to kill me.”


	3. Not Cool, Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter! Thank you so much for your comments, they really fueled this chapter! As always, tell me what you loved, what you hated, where you hope the story is going! Once again, unbeta'd!

“What do you mean, I’m the only one that isn’t trying to kill you? There are people trying to kill you? Wait, obviously, king, of course they are, but—wait, all those people at the palace? That’s—that’s for _you_?” Foggy sputtered as he let Matt in, then huffed. “Sit down, you look like you’re about to fall over. Sofa is, um, four steps forward, one step to the left. Wait, you didn’t—do you need a doctor? I’m calling 911.” He froze as a hand latched around his wrist.

“No doctors. I’m fine. I didn’t eat anything, and this…” Matt gestured to himself as he eased himself onto the couch, huffing out a soft breath. “This has already been seen to.”

“Already been— _eat_ —“ Foggy took a deep breath. “Okay, let me see what I can…okay. So, the round of sickness at the palace is thanks to poison, not some virus. You avoided it…somehow, which we’ll get to. These scary injuries are thanks to…falling down the stairs? Which, no, they aren’t, but we’ll go with that lie for now.”

“What? Of course—“

“That’s a _knife wound_ , Matt, I’m not stupid. I can see it. You want to explain those to me?”

“I…” Matt sighed, leaning back and rubbing his eyes with the arm that wasn’t broken. “It was another assassination attempt. They’re getting bolder, first with attacking me in daylight, and then with the poison.”

“Bolder.” Foggy sighed and sat across from Matt, rubbing his face. “You say that like they’ve been trying to kill you for a while. And how did they even get this close? Scary guards, remember? You told me you had highly trained, very scary guards that would keep shit like this from happening!”

“I do. They were bribed to turn a blind eye.” Matt’s lips twitched, and Foggy rolled his eyes.

“I am rolling my eyes at you. So how did you survive? No offense, Matt, but even though you’re the most competent blind person I’ve ever met—“

“Foggy, I’m the _only_ blind person you’ve ever met.”

“—I still don’t see how you would have survived an actual assassin’s attack. And also, _hey_. You don’t know that you’re the only blind guy I’ve met. I mean, you’re _right_ , but still. Assumptions, man, come on, you’re a lawyer.” That, at least, got Matt to crack a tired, fond smile. Goal! But it faltered as Matt started to answer his question.

“I might be…slightly more capable than you thought. Than I led you to believe.” No, no, come on, Matt couldn’t—he wouldn’t—

“Is this your way of telling me you’re not blind? That you—what, that it was some sort of publicity gimmick, because that’s real shitty, Matt—“

“No! No, I am actually blind. No light perception. My eyes _don’t work_ , Foggy, I swear.” It shouldn’t be so reassuring, having someone tell you that they are actually blind, but it made Foggy’s chest loosen, go from tight and pained to—well, less tight and pained.

“My other senses, however, are…heightened.”

“Yeah, you mentioned this to me in college, man. Better sense of smell, hearing, taste, all of that. It’s why you could tell what drink I was handing you when we first met, remember?”

“Yes, but that’s all relatively normal, for a blind person. At least, I believe it is. I’m…not normal.”

“No way.” That earned him an annoyed look in his general direction.

“Foggy, seriously. My senses are…enhanced, far beyond what you would expect of your average sight-impaired person.” Foggy got the impression that Matt would be steepling his fingers, if he could use both of them. He did it a lot, when he was working on something serious.

“You ate Chinese for lunch. The person three floors above you really likes their cologne. Armani, I think. The woman across the hall from you is in her third trimester of pregnancy. You’re anxious and…angry.” Foggy sat down, staring at Matt as though he’d never seen him before. He realized his hands were shaking, but he couldn’t tell if it was from fear or anger. Probably both.

“How…how do you know?” His own voice sounded off to him, too flat, too empty. He swallowed hard, staring down at his hands rather than looking at Matt. If he had, he might have seen the grimace flash across Matt’s features.

“I can smell the Chinese. I smelled it even before I came in, and I can smell that man’s cologne too. I can hear the baby’s heartbeat and the woman’s, and the way she’s walking indicates third trimester. I…can hear your heartbeat. It picked up when I started talking.”

“You can hear my—of course you can. Of course. Because it’s too much to ask for even one modicum of privacy.” Foggy put his head between his knees, taking deep breaths. He heard the couch squeak—God bless that squeaky couch—and put one hand up. “Don’t touch me.” It squeaked as he sat back down and Foggy lifted his head, swallowing hard. He held up three fingers.

“How many fingers?”

“Foggy…”

“How many fucking fingers, Matt?”

“Three.” He flashed five.

“Five.”Middle finger.

“One.” Foggy got up out of his chair and paced. He didn’t really know why he was so angry. This should be good. Matt was more capable than ever. He was capable of functioning like a normal person. Awesome. Except…

“Was any of it even real? Any of it? Or was it King Matthew, amusing himself with the common folk? Ha ha, let’s see if I can mess with this guy? I bet he’ll never guess that I’m not as blind as I pretend to be!” Foggy could feel his vision blurring and he wiped at his eyes, hating the moisture they came away with.

 

Matt honestly hadn’t though anything could hurt as badly as his injuries had when he’d first received them. Two broken ribs, a broken wrist, several knife wounds with three requiring stitches, bruising up and down his body…

It had _nothing_ on this. On hearing the hurt emanating from Foggy. His empty voice, his shaking hands, his pacing, his questions…each one was like getting stabbed all over again. He stood, thinking if he could just touch Foggy, just reassure him, this would be better. They could talk about this.

Foggy took a step away from him.

Foggy had only once taken a step away from Matt, in the entire course of their acquaintance. The night they’d kissed and Matt had rejected him. Was that what he saw this as? Another rejection? ‘ _King Matthew, amusing himself with the common folk_.’ Foggy had never thrown his rank at him like that, and had never, _ever,_ assigned himself the role of “common.” Because he wasn’t, Foggy was…Foggy was everything. And Matt realized that if he handled this wrong, he would lose him, because there was nothing Foggy valued more than honesty, and Matt had lied to them for the entire length of their friendship.

“Of course it was real, Foggy. I would never—you know me.”

“Do I, Matt? Because the man I thought I knew didn’t fight off assassins. He couldn’t smell people’s cologne three floors away or…or hear their heartbeats! The man I thought I knew would never have lied to me!”

“It was only this—“

“Only this? _Only this_?” The laugh that followed was like sandpaper grating against Matt’s ears, and he flinched. That wasn’t Foggy’s laugh. It was empty, broken, hysterical. And that was Matt’s fault.

“Foggy…” His voice was gentle, soothing, and he took another step forward, ignoring his body protesting the motion, and then froze when Foggy took two stumbling steps backwards.

“Don’t. This is…this isn’t me telling you a girl isn’t hot when she is, or moving your furniture, or…or telling you that I never liked Doritos in the first place! This is something that affects you every day, that has always affected you, and you didn’t _trust_ me with it!” His breath hitched on something that Matt feared was a sob, and he crumpled. He couldn’t do this to Foggy. He couldn’t drag him into this mess, put his life at risk, after lying to him.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, turning towards the door and tensing when Foggy grabbed his good arm, moving a quick two steps to where he was.

“Oh, no, you don’t. Unless you’ve got another friend—which, unless you—“ A hard swallow, heart thumping hard in pain. “Unless you lied about that too, you don’t, you’re walking out there to get killed. Even if we were never really friends, I’m a loyal enough commoner not to do that to you. Sit down.” Matt obeyed, swallowing down the lump in his throat enough to talk.

“I didn’t lie about that. You’re the only friend I have, Foggy. I never lied about that.” That eased something in Foggy, some of the tension leaving his shoulders, but the next words were like a slap to the face.

“I wish I could believe you, Matty. I really do.” Foggy sat down again and cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair. Matt could hear the brush of the strands against soft fingers, could smell Foggy’s shampoo, something clean and soapy. “So. Tell me more about these powers. What can you do?”

“They aren’t—“

“I’m giving you a ‘go with it’ look right now.” Foggy paused, and that awful laugh returned, with him shaking his head. “I guess that was really stupid of me too, right? You can probably tell.”

“I can’t, actually. I can tell that you shook your head, because I heard the motion—your hair brushing your shirt, swishing through the air, everything—but I can’t tell facial expressions. Never have been able to. And smaller motions are…harder. So what you do…it really was helpful. Not everyone thinks to do it.”

“Oh. I…okay. I’m glad I could help, I guess.” And that was the truth. Foggy really was glad to help, even as furious as he was with Matt, and that was what made him _Foggy_. “Anyway. Fancy not seeing powers.”

“They are enhanced senses. I can hear a lot. More than anyone with sight, and more than most people without it.”

“Most people?”

“The…man who trained me. Stick. He could do the same things I did. Better than me, even.”

“Stick? What the hell kind of name is Stick?”

“It’s what I called him. He never gave me his real name.”

“Weirdo.”

“You have no idea.” And for a moment, they were just them. Matt and Foggy, poking fun at the ridiculousness of the world around them. Matt could tell the exact moment Foggy remembered the actual situation, his body going tense again, breathing shorter, and he wanted to scream. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair, and for the first time since his father’s death, Matt could taste bitterness, like licking a quarter, on the end of his tongue.

“Anyway. I can hear heartbeats, like I told you. Using them, I can tell when someone’s lying. I can—“

“Wait, wait. You can—every time I lied to you. Every time, you knew? And you just let me get away with it?”

“I…yes. I did.”

“Why?” It was a fair question, and a good one. Why had Matthew not called Foggy on the number of times he lied? Why not insist on total honesty when he would have it anyway?

“Because you…you only ever lied to help me. Spare my feelings, keep me from feeling guilty or obligated, or to make me feel better when someone was cruel to me. You never lied to be cruel. I didn’t see a point in pointing out you were lying when I knew you were only doing it to help me.” There was a long silence and then Foggy nodded.

“I, um, just nodded. You can…keep telling me about it all.”

“I can hear heartbeats. It’s…how I figure out what people are feeling, most of the time. It gives me the warning that nonverbal body cues would have given me once. I can smell…anything. I don’t know how to explain it, but every smell is amplified for me. Actually, everything is. Everything hits me harder. It’s why strong smells, loud sounds, cotton sheets, they’re all…harder. They hurt.” He paused, swallowing.

“Okay, so that explains the weird food aversions. I always thought that was ‘cause of how you were raised, or just a Matt thing, but…they hurt?” Matt nodded. “Shit. That sucks, man.” Foggy took a deep breath. “Okay, so I’m sure I’ll have a lot of other questions about this, but…you gotta tell me why you showed up on my doorstep. And not this cryptic bullshit, either, details about who is trying to kill you and why. And seriously, Matt, why? It’s like, your first month on the job. Only you, buddy, would have people trying to kill you in the first month of your reign. Seriously.”

“Well…”

“What?”

“They’ve _technically_ been trying to kill me since I was born.”

_“What?!”_

 

 

Foggy listened closely as Matt talked about the various assassination attempts throughout his life. About the person who broke into his nursery when he was two. About the “accident” that blinded him that wasn’t really an accident, but a carefully bribed truck driver with chemicals that were supposed to kill the young prince. (It was around that point that Foggy got the alcohol out because there was no way he was listening to how some sick fucks had purposefully _blinded_ a nine-year-old without at least a little buzz to soften it.) About the “mugging” (guess what, not a mugging) that had killed the king. Matt said it had been pretty calm after that.

“They were probably hoping to turn me into a puppet king. I was young enough, and they thought I trusted them, but I was suspicious since my hearing let me overhear a lot of conversations once I’d been trained.”

“Okay, you keep saying ‘they,’ Matty. Who’s ‘they’?” Foggy finally asked, exasperated.

“I…Foggy, I…”

“Dude, if I was going to turn you in, I would have done it when the whole ‘my best friend has lied to me since we met’ thing came out.” Was that bitter? It was probably a little very bitter. Ah, well, he was entitled to a little bitterness. Still, it didn’t really make him feel any better to see Matt flinch at his tone. Actually, it made him feel a lot worse. Damn it.

“Right. Um, I’m pretty sure it’s a man named Wilson Fisk. Lord Wilson Fisk, actually. He was fourth in line for the throne, but after tonight he’s next in line after me.

“What? But he’s your…”

“Fourth cousin. We share a common third-great grandfather. But my family has a history of being only children. After the ancestor I share with Fisk, the next parent with siblings was actually my father.”

“Yeah, your Aunt Rosaline, right! You hate her.”

“Hated. She was one of the ones that died. Her and my cousins. I have other assorted family, but Fisk is next in line.”

“Shit, you think he poisoned them? Their…I mean, they’re awful, but they’re family.” Something in Matt’s face hardened, and Foggy wasn’t sure he liked the change in his friend.

“I know he poisoned them, Foggy. I can’t prove it, but I know it, and he planned to poison me too. I’ve got to stop him, and anyone helping him. He must have influence throughout the palace, in my guards, in the kitchens…I’ve got to bring him down. Once he’s down, the entire organization falls apart.” Foggy was thinking nodding a little.

“He has to have your food testers in his pocket too, right?” Silence. Foggy glanced up and narrowed his eyes. Matt had the same sheepish look on his face as the time Foggy had walked in on him holding a broken hand mirror and trying to explain that he’d stepped on it.

Broken mirror. Huh. Actually explained a lot. Maybe this was belated bad luck?

“Matt. Tell me you have food testers.”

“I…um…”

“Matt! It’s the 21st century, they don’t even taste your food anymore! They just test it for poisons before sending it out!”

“I know! I just…didn’t think them necessary. Since I can smell poison.”

“And if it doesn’t have a scent?”

“I…um.”

“Yeah, um. Jesus Christ, Matt. You realize a lot of this could have been avoided—“ Oh. There was guilt. Real guilt, the kind that made Foggy feel guilty by extension even if he hadn’t done anything wrong. Which he hadn’t. “Or he would have just paid them off too. Or blackmailed them or something. Not your fault, Matty.”Matt nodded, but it was obvious that he didn’t believe him. Foggy cleared his throat.

“Anyway. How do you plan on taking on Fisk when you are…” Foggy gestured to all of Matt, paused. “If you couldn’t tell, I’m gesturing to all of you.”

“I need to heal a little first. But the poison thing was too close. If I stayed there like this, I can’t guarantee that I would be able to fight off the next attack.”

“Right. Going back to that, actually, how did you fight off the first one?” Matt tapped his fingers against the cane thoughtfully before speaking.

“I wasn’t just trained in using my senses, Foggy,” he said quietly. “I was trained to fight. Stick only stuck around for a couple of years, but he taught me how to fight.”

“Wait, wait, wait, dude. You were _nine_.”

“Eleven, actually, by the time he found me.”

“Eleven, whatever. But you were a _kid_ , and this guy with the weird name taught you how to _fight_? That’s messed up.”

“It’s helped me survive, Foggy.” Foggy started pacing again. He wondered if Matt could hear his heart pounding in anger. Probably.

“That’s what’s messed up about it, Matt, and this has been your messed up life for so long that you don’t even see it! A _kid_ should not have to worry about people trying to kill him! Nobody should be worrying about poison or assassins or any of this!”

“This is my life, Foggy. I never wanted you to see this side of it, but that’s what it is.”

“God, but don’t you wish it wasn’t?”

“Of course I do.” Foggy blinked at him, startled.

“You…do? Then why not leave, abdicate, whatever?”

“Because then Fisk will inherit. He’ll _win_. And I might not be a good king, but I’m not as bad as he would be. He has no sense of empathy, no compassion, no mercy. He only cares about a select group of people, and he will and _has_ killed for them. I won’t let someone like that rule a country,” Matt said and this, _this_ , is what Foggy had seen. This fierce loyalty, this drive to protect that which he loves. _That_ was what would make Matt a great king someday.

Just sucks that he didn’t feel the same loyalty and love for Foggy, apparently.

“So, the long and short of it is that you aren’t going to let Fisk win, but you can’t fight him yet because you’re, uh, _broken_ , so you need a place to lay low.”

“Essentially.”

“Well, obviously I’m not going to say no. Mi casa is su casa, and all that,” Foggy said, sighing and sitting up. “Make yourself at home, highness.” And oh, welcome back bitterness, I so missed you in that brief interlude where I forgot my best friend had been lying to me for years.

“Foggy…”

“No. Matt, look, I’m helping you out because it’s the right thing to do and because I don’t want you to die. But I’m not—you _lied_ to me Matt. For years. That’s not something I can just shrug off, okay? So you can stay. But I don’t think we’re friends anymore.” He turned and walked out, shutting himself in his office and knowing that his heartbeat had stayed almost perfectly steady.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I slept! This chapter was really hard for me to get out (possibly because I don't like my favorite boys fighting). Also, just a note, I have no clue if Matt has any cousins or an Aunt. I added her in because I figured poisoning was a bit dramatic for one target. Next chapter will have some loving, I swear, I just have this thing where major deceptions have to get out of the way first. Also, Karen next chapter!


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